Repose
by TheNightimeSky
Summary: Darry rests for a moment, and thinks about his life ... before it catches up to him again.


**A/N: Well, Patrick Swayze dies, and you think that I make no contribution? Oh, you're such a fuckface. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own "The Outsiders". S.E. Hinton does.**

"Wait – hey! What the _hell_, Soda!"

"_Ponyboy!"_ a woman's voice chided the younger boy.

"Sorry, Mom … " came the mumbled reply – his voice seeped through the thin walls – a muffled, rumbling sound, still audible in the next room over.

"Why, who knew you were so … _primitive, _and rambunctious, Ponyboy .. "

"That doesn't make any sense. Rambunctious is – " The retort was cut off by a shocked yelp, followed by a series of snickers and hoots.

"_Why is it always so _loud _in this house?" _

Darrel Curtis gritted his teeth, clenching a handful of dark hair in his strong grasp, looking down at the table before him. He tried to concentrate on the work before him, but now he was aware of the annoying din in the background – he was just waiting for another holler or shout in the next room over to send him off the edge.

"_Okay … they talk again, and I'm going to say something … " _

There was a brisk smash, and a loud, "Wait! WAIT! You got him!" More laughter.

"God fucking _dammit," _Darry snarled under his breath, ready to pummel his little brothers and their friends into the ground – what was _wrong _with them? "They do it again, and I'll … "

There was a warm, good-natured laugh. "Oh, you boys are gonna wear me into the ground. Why don't y'all go _outside _for a bit?"

"_Thank God," _Darry thought agitatedly to himself, as they all seemed to comply – the slamming screen door a final response.

He smirked pleased at the silence, and turned triumphantly to the application he was supposed to be filling out – finally, _finally, _he'd have some time to do a quality job, at least. He stared at it another fifteen seconds, feeling the inspiration and organized thoughts leak through his brain – falling quickly like sand through his fingers. He groaned, leaning back into his chair, facing the graying ceiling – there was a water stain on the ceiling, he thought casually to himself. It looked like a shark-fin, or even a shoulder pad. How funny was that, he thought – where did that come from.

He leaned forward again, taking in the paper – that stain on the wall seemed to jog back some coherent thoughts, at least. Wasn't it odd, how you could look at something so indecisive, and unclear, and fool your brain into thinking, 'Oh, it looks just like … _obviously." _

He picked up his pencil, feeling pleased at this inspiration, and started jotting things down, "_We all make up these little fantasies for ourselves – looking at meaningless things, and finding the reality in them – it's different for everyone, because you chose what you want to see in the stain … "_

"Fuck, wait … " he whispered to himself, "that's not right … damn … "

He crossed out 'stain'. "_It's because we chose what our own future's going to be – we chose what we want to see … "_

He tapped his pencil on the desk in sync with some far off sound.

"_Wait just a minute … " _He thought to himself, pursing his lips. He let out a frustrated groan, and pushed the paper away.

Was he actually _thinking _of writing about a _water stain? _For his college prep essay?

He threw out "Attempt #5" of the day.

He jumped out of his seat, figuring that there must be something to clear his mind – maybe he'd talk to Mom. Not _ask _her for help, of course, but … just talk; see what happens.

He walked into the hallway, right in the kitchen, where he caught sight of his mother's bouncy, golden-haired head. She hummed in a hush tone, and smiled when she saw him. "Decided to take a break, huh?"

"Yeah," he said gruffly, grabbing an apple from the fridge, and sitting down into the nearest chair.

"Well? How's it going?"

"Hmmm," he mumbled, pressing his teeth to the green-red skin, "Okay."

She sighed – a little in annoyance at her son's one-word answers, a little in bemusement. "Well, I think the boys went down to the lot to play football, if you wanted … "

He rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. He had _way _too much work to do, already – how could she think he'd have time to play football with everyone else?

"_Anyway," _He thought to himself, a determined voice in his head, "_Next fall I won't have to play with my brother and their friends no more – I'll be playing with people just as good as me." _

He bit into the apple, tasting the bitter-sweet taste on his tongue – he felt bad for thinking that way; hell, Two-Bit Mathews – the oldest in the gang – probably wasn't going anywhere for a while – same went for most of 'em, except Pony or Soda – and Soda was only an exception because Mom and Dad would lift him through school.

"Why don't you go play with them? I know Ponyboy and Sodapop _love _it when you play with the guys." She nods at him suggestively, as if to pass the hint.

"Mom, I'm just really busy – 'sides, they don't care," Darry laughed, trying to brush off the serious part of the comment.

"I know, honey, but you work much too hard, and … " He shut her off. HE didn't want to hear it – seemed like all her and dad did was say to stop working so hard, to worry about now – fuck, he knew they weren't rolling in dough, but it didn't help all the negative comments.

"_I'll work through fucking school if I have to – I don't care. Nothing's getting in my way – not again." _

"Well," he said briskly, getting up to leave, "I better get back to work – bye Mom."

He walks out, leaving his mother to go back to washing dishes.

- - -

"Hey, kid, what're you doing?" I peer down at my younger brother's homework, and he glances up at me from where he's sitting, his eyes lighting up at the excuse to put down his pencil. _Bad move, Curtis. _

"Darry! You will not believe what my math teacher is doing to me!" Sodapop whines in a plaintive tone – his dancing eyes suggesting otherwise.

"Yeah, get back to work, little buddy," I tell him, smirking at his face.

"B-but, my _story _is so much more important than … " He makes a face, "_Algebra."_

I back up slowly, still facing him, smiling, "Oh, well I'm very sorry to hear of your … er – hardened life, but … "

"Well, don't that just make me feel worse – Betrayed," he seethes at me, a grin threatening to splash on his face, "by my own _kin." _

"See ya later, partner." I mime tipping my hat at Soda, who laughs.

"Hey, Pony … " I say casually in passing to my youngest brother, "Wait. Pony, have you stopped working since this afternoon?"

His reserved gray eyes flicker up towards me, and he cocks his head to the side. "What?"

I repeat the question.

"Oh … " He thinks, and I wonder why this question is so hard for him to answer. I roll my eyes, never understanding him, but I smile at the obvious thought he's putting into this. "No … "

"Well," I say, "I guess that's what you get for being so damn smart, huh, kiddo?"

"Yeah," he says wistfully, a small grin on his face, "Guess so."

I ruffle his hair, despite his protesting, "You need to take it easier, kid. You do more work than you oughta for a kid your age."

"Look who's talking."

I grin at him again, and turn to leave the room. I hear a shuffle of papers, before I head outside.

"Hey there, kid." I glance in front of me, smiling as I see Dad walking down the path, keys jingling in his hand. "What you doing out so late?"

"Mom wants milk, so I offered to go get it."

"What a little gentleman you are," Dad teases gently. "I'm off tomorrow – we should all do something."

I glance at him impassively, wondering how to respond. In all truth, it was Dad who convinced me to stay home another year – Hell, with the bills and tuition, we sure didn't have enough to send me to school, but there was always some other way. I'm not sure I'll forget about it either. "Maybe."

He grins at me – a small flicker of a grin. "Okay, kid," he says softly.

I grunt, leaving to go down the sidewalk. Ma prob'ly wouldn't like for me to drive to the store, when it was only five blocks down after our street, so I figured I'd walk. It sure was cold – I always hated my birthday month when I was younger: It was just cold and gray.

I go and get the milk, and run into some older greaser down by the deli.

"Hey." He jerks his head at me, tone suggesting that he's going to talk. "Curtis, right?"

"That's right," I tell him coolly, "Who's askin'?"

He shrugs, "Mike Rivers, man. Used to rumble together – I'm with Shepard. Haven't seen ya around lately."

"Ain't much going on," I told him truthfully – hell, when was the last time a rumble came around? 'Sides, I might not even go to the next one – not like I want to be a greaser my whole life.

"Yeah … So, how's it goin'?"

"It's goin'," I said, shrugging.

"Yeah? I thought you were in school."

I recoil slightly, then regain my composure. No weaknesses here. "Nah, thought I'd stick around a bit longer – next year, I'm gone though."

"Tuff enough. Well, I gotta go; see ya around, Curtis."

I grunted in reply. "_I certainly hope not." _

_­­_- - -

I walk back home, and see Soda there, smoking on the porch. I frown at him – this was a bad habit; we all knew Soda smoked when he was nervous or upset … we knew he smoked when he wanted us to _ask _what was wrong.

"Hey, little buddy," I say, getting closer, "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" Soda looks at me. "Oh … nuthin'."

I sat down, "Hey, where'd our car go?" I jerked my head in the direction of the empty driveway.

"Mama went out to her girlfriend's house."

"Dad inside?"

He shrugs, "He drove her there."

"So," I lean back, looking at him – God, but Soda was good-looking. I knew that he knew it, and it was shallow to mention, but it sure made me like being his older brother. "What's eating at ya?"

"Oh," he sighed, "Nothing."

"Sodapop … " I said warningly, "Tell me now, or I'm leaving. I swear it, Soda."

He bit his lip, glancing at me worriedly, "I'm just .. sick of it."

"Care to vague that up a bit?"

"All this bullshit, man." He sighs, leafing his long, lean fingers through his dark-gold hair, "God, I sure wasn't kidding about my teacher, Dare. They … they all hate me."

"Yeah? I'll go kick their asses to Mexico for you, little buddy," I laughed.

"No!" He looked at me anxiously, "You don't …_understand. _Fuck, Darry, I just … I wish I was smarter. Hell, I ain't going nowhere, am I? I'm stuck here forever, and Mom and Dad sure ain't gonna be happy 'bout it."

"What?" I asked him, now serious. "Soda, what you yammering on about?"

He looked close to tears, but locked his jaw, eyebrows furrowed – that determined look on his face. "I'm happy where I am, man. But – but I shouldn't be, right? I should want … more; but God fucking _hell, _I sure ain't smart like you or Ponyboy – I just wish people'd stop asking so fucking much of me. I'm tryin' my best, man, I swear!"

"Soda!" I exclaim, "Cut to the chase, will ya?"

He exhales, "Don't tell Mama or Dad, okay?"

"O-okay … " I say, knowing that this is dangerous, now.

"Darry … " He looks at me imploringly, "I want to drop out."

"What?" I whisper, not believing it. "Soda … no."

"You promised you wouldn't tell!" He bawls.

"I – I won't. But, lord … Soda. Do you know what that even means?"

"W-what?"

"God almighty, Soda … that's like, throwing your life away – it's not even funny. You know how many people give up, and end up regrettin' it later? They all dropped the game to 'have fun now, and be miserable later', and that's 'zactly what they are. Miserable. It ain't worth it, buddy. It just ain't worth it, in the long run."

He cups his head in his hands, "See? I knew you wouldn't get it."

That hurts, and I'm thinking, '_Would Pony understand?' _

"Soda, you're smart, kid. And those teachers? Well, who cares 'bout them? They don't know anything, and you're gonna prove them wrong, okay? I – I'll help you. I promise."

He glances at me bewilderingly, "But, you'll be at school … "

I shrug, "Hey, you're my kid brother – you come first. I can do school and a job; but you're important too, ya dig?"

He blinks surprised, and then his face crumples into a relieved grin, "Golly Darry, I thought we'd lost you … Thanks, man."

I roll my eyes, "You sure are buggy, Sodapop." I give him a one-armed hug, and trudge back inside. Outdoors in January ain't no place to be – especially at night.

"Darry? What's the fuzz doing here?"

I glance up at Pony, starting to tell him what was he talking about, what fuzz, and look up at the grim face of a police officer.

- -

You glance at both sides of your chair – both of the young men – no _boys – _in the chairs are sobbing; a heart-breaking, soul-pouring sob that sounds so thick and heavy that it could choke them at any minute. If they stopped breathing. And you think, '_That'd make me all alone, then.' _Because you would be alone. All alone – with no family. _Nothing to tie you down._

It seems unbearable – how this has come crashing down on you, now of all times – how ironic it seems, that this happened at the crucial point of your life; how this just created another fork in the road. It seemed so simple before; so easy, and now everything you've said – all those empty promises, and determined goals – all broken in a split second. They all come crashing apart, like two cars on a busy intersection.

You've seen this before. Any moment now, a solution comes. The hero wraps his arms around the others – makes sure that they're OK, keeps them breathing, and recounts every _fucking promise _that he made, every piece of advice given, and is everything he cane be to them.

You've seen this before. It's like a superhero comic book. Like _Superman._

Only … you're not Superman. Because Superman's supposed to be indestructible, and will always save the day – in that last page of the comic, you just _know _that somehow, somewhere, it'll be fine in the end.

And you're just a twenty-year old, aspiring football star, and you have no fucking clue what to do – with yourself, with your life, or the two sobbing boys next to you.

You've seen this before.

And somehow, it now applies to you.

**A/N: I KNOW!**

**It's bad. I needed to make the deadline though, and I WILL go back and edit later – all that jazz.**

**In the month of September 2009, we lost a very talented actor, Patrick Swayze. After battling it out with pancreatic cancer, he finally passed away on September 14****th****. Now, while this all seems very sad to the general public, I think it means a lot more to use Outsider fans, right? Patrick not only starred in great movies like **_**Dirty Dancing **_**AND **_**Ghost, **_**but in the eyes of the Outsiders fans, he was the first one to give Darry Curtis his voice, and we thank him for that. He will always be the first "Darry" to us, and can't ever be replaced. **

**This fanfic is dedicated to him. – We all miss you terribly, Patrick, and we hope you're feeling much better. :)**

_**"I have always had a special place in my heart for Patrick, while I was fortunate enough to work with him in three films. Today not only did we lose a fine actor, I lost my older `Outsiders' brother." – C. Thomas Howell. **_

**Don't review. I mean it. You're all buttmunchers. **


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